


Thedas Ficlet Collection

by skybound2



Category: Dragon Age, Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition, Dragon Age: Origins
Genre: Double Drabble, Drabble, Drabble Collection, Drama, F/M, Ficlet, Gen, Humor, M/M, Triple Drabble, Vignette
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2011-05-16
Updated: 2015-02-27
Packaged: 2017-10-19 12:08:29
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 1,131
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/200698
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/skybound2/pseuds/skybound2
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A catch all for my drabbles, double-drabbles, triple-drabbles, or vignettes set in the Dragon Age universe. Characters, pairings, and plots will vary.  Entries include: Anders has black outs; Sten gets kittens; Hawke's thoughts in Act 3; and Solas has trouble sleeping post DA:I.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Manifesto (Anders refs. Anders/Hawke)

**Author's Note:**

> In an effort to not clog Ao3 too much, this here will be my catch all for any and all drabbles, double drabbles, triple drabbles, and vignettes set in the DA universe. Basically, any and all independent stories that I wright for DA that are ~400 words or less in length, will get dropped here. There will likely be no rhyme nor reason to these fics.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> This entry was done for **DAO_Challenge** ; over on LJ; 'Lightning Round' prompt of 'Forgetfulness.'

There are black spots in his memory. Dark holes that eat up minutes, hours, days. Areas where his thoughts breakdown, divert. Take off on some wild tangent around a road block that he can't see.

The need to know where – how – those moments are spent, consumes him. So he writes; hoping to find the path that will lead him through the labyrinth of his mind. Jots down every idea that gets a foot hold. Keeps a sheaf of paper on him at all times Along with a bent quill. Keeps them buried beneath the folds of his robes, jostled up in the space where Pounce once rested – when he was a scrawny little thing desperate for warmth, and a token bit of affection (not so different from Anders, really).

So he writes. Some days, the letters are penned in a hasty, lopsided scrawl, and he knows that those are his own agitated ramblings. They speak of desperation, of necessity. And are wholly unremarkable in every way.

But some mornings… some mornings when he wakes – drags heavy limbs from the cocoon of Hawke's arms, sheets wrapped around him like shackles – he stumbles to the desk to find bright, elegant lines glaring at him from the page.

Lines that spill accusations at the Templars, at Meredith, at Orsino… at Hawke. Lines that scream for freedom, for equity. That hail down judgment with a level of conviction that even Anders at his most hardened moments has never been capable of on his own.

They are lines that he never remembers writing, but the stains on his fingers tell another story. The exhaustion in his body tells him the same.

More and more, he finds himself scrambling for the pages. Clinging to them like a talisman, soaking up the forgotten sentences like rain. Phrases that belong to Justice, but that more and more, he wishes were his.

~End


	2. Worthy Warriors (Sten & Warden)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Response to last week's prompt post over at the **dragon_age** LJ comm. Prompt was: "Kittens for Sten." There was no way I could resist.

"Why would you gift me with these creatures?"

The Warden muffled a snicker. A hard task, what with Sten glowering down at him over a basketful of mewling kittens. "You don't like them?"

"What is there to like? They are scrawny things. Incapable of caring for themselves." In opposition to the words, a kitten launched an attack on Sten's finger. The Warden hid a smile when the Qunari's demeanor softened at the action.

"They can go back to the Chantry, if you'd like. Must be mice in the walls they can hunt."

Sten scowled. "Mice are unworthy foes."

"Have a better suggestion?"

Another kitten pounced on Sten's hand. "Yes." With that, he turned and stalked off deep into camp, the occupied basket under his arm.

The fact that a ball of mending twine went missing the next night wasn't much of a surprise.

~End


	3. Of Ashes and Cinder (F!Hawke refs. Anders)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke comes to terms with who she is, and what Anders actions mean she must do.

Hawke knows that she's changed. That the little bits and pieces that make up all of her parts have become so steeped in treachery, betrayal...loss, that her family would no longer recognize her, if they were alive.

Wouldn't understand how the brazen, hard-headed youth that she once was has been twisted into this inconsistent shell of a woman. A woman who could breathe out words of love through lips moist with heated kisses while silently promising retribution for crimes not yet committed, but that she knew one day would.

And now...now flames lick at the sky. Swirling, ravenous patterns that swallow all that they can. Polluting the air with noxious fumes that make Hawke want to gag. An ending she couldn't foresee, and yet is one that she anticipated all the same. And all she can do, all she can focus on while countless innocent lives turn to cinder, is the hunched form of a man sitting on a box.

A man whose arms she has sought comfort in; whose heartbeat has lulled her into dreamless sleep; whose manic, unpredictable moods have driven her to the edges of insanity time and time again.

A man whose eyes, when they look upon her now, are telling her the story of a soul pleading for release. And who, up until this moment, when her palm touches upon the hilt of her blade, and the wind carries a bit of ash across her nose, she has never been able to deny him a thing.

She pulls the dagger from its sheath, squeezing the metal until it bites into her flesh, and takes a step.

~End


	4. For Want of Peace (Solas refs F!Lavellan/Solas)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A random 400-word Solas (Solavellan implied) ficlet written as a bit of a writing exercise last night. Spoilers through to post-game credits.

_He can’t sleep._

Not since Corypheus and the orb and... _her_.

After so many years - a lifetime built of millennia - of being able to pass into the Fade with ease, it’s a failure that he cannot grasp.

A perfect companion to all of the others he has collected over the innumerable years.

He puts a full two days distance between himself and the Inquisition and...her before he feels at ease enough to attempt any true measure of rest. Beyond that which can be obtained while propped up against a tree, staff at the ready.

But rest does not come. So he releases the wards and continues on. Following the uncharted path that his feet have put him on with little care or notice. The sole goal at the start to just be...away.

Away where he can collect his thoughts, and choose his next course of action. Away where he can allow his energy to recharge and his spirit to...not heal, because he sees no chance of that occurring, but to stitch itself back together in some hobbled fashion.

He will settle for making do, in absence of all else.

One day bleeds into the next as surely as his overtaxed feet upon the ground. But he travels on.

And still, he cannot sleep.

Hallucinations settle in. A kaleidoscope of all his misdeeds, dancing at the cusp of his sanity to the music of  _her_  laughter,  _her_  sighs,  _her_  broken plea of ‘ _why?_ ’

It is not until he is standing at the entrance to the abandoned temple of Mythal in the Arbor Wilds, decaying corpses and blood-poisoned waters evidence of the recent battle that ravaged the land, that he knows what he will do.

What he  _mus_ t do.

Despite what the Wilder witch may have thought, the Eluvian requires no more than a whispered word from  _him_  to once again pulse with life, eager to please.

It is only after, power that he has not felt in many an age coursing through his veins and Mythal’s empty vessel laying by his side, that he feels welcomed by the Fade once more.

But he does not close his eyes. Does not fall into the peaceful embrace of that realm no matter how he may long to do so.

How can he? When there is so much work to be done?

Rest can wait. The People cannot.  

~End

 


End file.
